Chapter 24
LORENZO
It’s the crazy hour at Inferno when the barman beckons me over.
The floor is packed, the music loud enough to feel in your back teeth, and every table runs a tab that won’t be settled until near sunrise.
“Hey, boss,” the barman says, shoving the house phone across the bar toward me. The cord is stretched taut. “Your butler’s on the phone.”
Butler? He must mean Ciro. But Ciro would never use the house phone.
“What is it, Ciro?” I say into the phone.
“Sorry for disturbing you, sir. But we couldn’t reach you on your cell. It’s Miss Gina.”
“The baby? Gina? They’re okay, right?” I ask, my gut twisting.
Ever since Gina’s near miscarriage, I’ve dreaded this call.
I was looking forward to being an uncle.
And I knew Dante would totally fall apart if anything happened to Gina or the baby.
“She’s fine. But she wanted me to see if you’d check on Emily. Miss Gina hasn’t been able to reach her.”
But she thinks she went to check out a restaurant they’ve been discussing. I have the address if you’d like it, sir.”
“Why don’t you just ask Ernesto to check on her. He brought her there, right?”
“No, sir. Your wife left the apartment a few hours ago and didn’t say where she was going. But Miss Gina’s especially concerned because your wife doesn’t know the city, and this restaurant’s in a rough area.”
“Did you call the restaurant?”
“Unlisted number, sir.”
Something tightens in my chest. Not quite dread, but close enough.
I know what can happen to women alone at night in the city.
But I immediately chide myself for worrying.
Emily’s a grown woman. And the only reason I could think of for not having Ernesto drive her is because she was meeting a man and didn’t want anyone to know.
“What’s that about?” says Max, coming up to hear the last part of the conversation before I disconnect.
“Emily,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Gina’s worried because she went out and didn’t check in.”
“What’s up with you, man? Emily doesn’t know the city. Gina’s right to be concerned.”
I shrug. “She’s gallivanting around town. Probably having drinks with some guy if she isn’t giving him a blow job by now.”
“That doesn’t sound like Emily,” says Max, picking up the cocktail napkin where I wrote the restaurant’s address. “This place is in Hellstown. Not safe after dark. Even during the day. Let’s get moving.”
Max’s words hit home. He’s right. Emily’s not the type for casual hookups.
“I’ll go alone. One of us has to stay here and keep an eye on the club.”
It’s a fresh, moonlit night so I jump on my motorcycle and speed off into the night.
Once I arrive at the restaurant, I knock at the door.
When it doesn’t open, I kick it in.
As soon as I enter, everyone stares at me.
“I’m looking for my wife. Emily Ricci,” I tell the hostess.
She senses I’m dangerous and determined. She doesn’t give me any lip.
“She left a while ago.”
“You didn’t call her a cab?”
“I was seating another patron. She didn’t ask for one.”
I jump back on my motorcycle and circle the neighborhood.
Half a mile away, I hear a man’s voice, high and hysterical. The voice comes from an alley between a bodega and a shuttered laundromat.
He’s holding a woman against the alley wall, screaming nonsense at a woman with auburn hair.
Emily.
I jump off my bike.
The alley is dark.
The man’s back is to me. He has Emily pinned against the brick with both hands on her shoulders, thick fingers digging in.
There’s a knife in his right hand, blade catching the light from the street.
I get my hand in his collar and yank him back hard. The knife clatters to the pavement.
He spins around faster than I expected for such a massive guy.
The junkie comes at me with both hands open, going for my face.
I drive my fist into his face and the steel toe of my shoe into his groin.
He grunts in pain and crumples on the sidewalk.
I shoot a look over at Emily.
She’s still standing against the brick wall. Her dress is torn at the shoulder. She gives me a nod that she’s okay.
Just when I’m about to walk her to my motorcycle, the man rises.
My hand reaches into my holster as he breaks away and runs shrieking into the darkness.
I take aim.
No one can harm my Emily like that.
Before I can fire, he lets forth a different kind of scream...
A thud similar to when a body falls from a great height.
Where the fuck did that crazy junkie go?
I rush to where he stood seconds ago. From the looks of it, he ran into an open manhole, crashing through the flimsy warning barricade before it.
I shine the light from my phone down into the dark. The beam finds the crazy at the bottom, his neck wrenched hard to the left against the concrete.
I return to Emily still against the brick.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “We’re going home.”